A/N: I just realised I've missed the disclaimer for the last two chapters. Damn. I'll go back and fix that soon. But for NOW, I do not own Labyrinth. That honour belongs to Jim Henson. I do own any OC's you may or may not notice in this story. Happy reading!
Sarah's eyes fluttered open, and squinted at the harsh sunlight that streamed in through her window. "Shit." Rubbing one eye, she groggily groped for the curtains, grabbing a fistful and yanking them shut. "That's the last time I sleep with the curtains open…sleep…" She sprawled back, blinking.
Something she was meant to do…
Her inner voice drew itself up to its full height of five feet and five inches, crossed her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. You're an idiot.
The dream.
"Shit!" Nearly rolling herself onto the floor, Sarah scrambled to find purchase at her desk and dragged her laptop closer to her. She started it up. "Come on, come on." She squirmed in her chair, when a few seconds passed and her laptop was still booting up, she nearly pushed the contents of her desk off in haste for a pen and paper.
Instead of writing, she drew. It was hasty, sharp, like quick doodle sketches on the back of a mock exam paper (and she had done plenty of those in the past). When she was finished with one, she quickly went onto the other paper. Her mind was alive with images, trying to latch onto every remembered detail she could think of in her dream.
It was somewhat hopeless. She remembered bits and drabs. Big, significant events. But the tiny things, the things she knew she shouldn't forget, were already fading into an unknown corner of her mind.
Finished, she dropped her pen and spread out the papers across the desk. Her upper teeth caught her bottom lip and chewed thoughtfully.
Sarah had taken a few folklore papers in university. Drawn to European culture, and its rich mythology and stories. She had particularly taken a fancy to Irish and Scottish folklore, but she had passed that off as a fleeting fancy, a salute to her old self who used to have such amazing dreams of goblins, and heroic quests, and things she no longer believed in.
The dreams about goblins weren't common. This man was even rarer. But Sarah could have sworn she had met him before, seen that haughty, self-assured face somewhere, and if she tried her hardest, she could almost hear the smooth baritone of his voice.
You'd know if you met this guy, Williams. Sarah looked down at her drawings. Crappy as they were, now that she could look at a rough draft, her own dream image of him seared itself in her mind's eye.
The man had a well-sculptured face. Close to her age but very handsome. He had curious features, light eyebrows that perked upwards at the ends, a set of mismatched eyes – one a warm honey brown, and the other a cold limestone green – long, blonde hair messily set around his shoulders in some punk rock-like fashion, and a mouth that, even set in a brooding frown, did things to her stomach.
She shook her head. Fluttering butterflies belonged to her twenties, when she'd been young and very much in pursuit of such feelings.
When you hit thirty though, it's less about the chase, and more about the hurry-up-and-settle-down-soon-you-don't-have-all-the-time-in-the-world-sister feeling.
I've met him…she thought distantly, letting her eyes slide across the pictures.
They showed a portrait of him looking ahead, eyes glazed and curious. The next was him finding some sort of old-fashioned spindle in a dark corner. The third picture was him, of his face hungry and yearning, reaching out to touch the tip of the spindle. The fourth was a shadow watching the events unfold. It was shapeless and had no features, she wasn't sure what the hell or who the hell it had been. The fifth picture was swarmed with little creatures, ugly goblins with horns, and helmets, and fairies dressed in little threadbare leaves and twine. All of them took up every space on the picture, eyes wide and watching.
Watching their King make a grave mistake.
King. What the hell, Williams? Sarah pushed the papers away and frowned. "I think I've been reading one too many fairy tales. You're being stupid and-" Her eyes casually glanced at the clock- and again. "And late! Oh, my god! Late! Late! Late!"
Nearly keening out loud like a howling cat, Sarah quickly dressed in a pair of comfortable black jeans, calf-high leather brown boots, and a flattering green cardigan. Her straight black hair tamed itself after a few hand swipes through it, and she liked the slightly ruffled look to it, it almost reminded her of- go. She quickly brushed her teeth, grabbed her bag, a granola breakfast bar to go, applied lip balm and all but flew out of the house.
As she left, the front door shutting and locking behind her, the ticking of her clock went on a few beats more. Then stopped.
In the quiet of the house, the bed sheets in her room ruffled a little. The small rubbish can tipped over, emptying pieces of old chewing gum wrapper and paper balls. The curtains that she had closed pulled themselves open again. Something scuttled across the carpet, and a small, inhumane hand slithered over the top of her desk and slammed down on the portrait of Jareth's face.
It seemed like whenever you really needed to get somewhere, every car park was freaking taken except for the ones a block away, and the disabled parks.
Sarah was briefly temped, okay very tempted, to just park in the disability parks. She might have entertained the thought more, if every staff member on grounds didn't know the sight of her car. In the end, she sucked up her frustration, parked a block away and hurried in her boots to the school building.
Ms. Williams was never late. So Class 1B sat at their desks, perplexed and unsure of what to do with themselves. Sally Bucknell, class bookworm, awkwardly pulled out her homework and checked it over again. Jim Bowie, class clown, had managed to sneak his new guitar into school and strummed it now, his chest puffing out a little as his friends gawked. Daniel Watson, a quiet student who genuinely liked Ms. Williams, argued with Jennifer Morris about whether or not they should tell the principal.
As strict as Ms. Williams could be, no one really wanted to get her into trouble except for Jennifer Morris. Whom Daniel thought was the very definition of spoilt rich girl who hadn't gotten what she wanted from Ms. Williams, which was to get away with not doing any homework, or Satan's spawn. Considering her Dad was some hot shot attorney, and Daniel's Dad always said lawyers were an unmentionable word, Daniel was going to side with the spawn of Satan theory.
The resolution worked itself out when the door was flung open, and Ms. Williams hurried in, stack of papers in hand.
"My apologies for being late," She started, "I had a family crisis to attend to- yes, Ms. Morris?"
Jennifer lowered her hand, which had shot in the air as soon as Ms. Williams entered the room. "Miss, my Dad said if you were late to class by half past, then we would get a free period."
Jim Bowie missed a string and strung badly. Everyone winced. "Free period?"
"No, Mr. Bowie, and put the guitar away before I have to confiscate it. Now, please." Sarah turned to Jennifer, "Is it half past yet, Miss Morris?"
"Um, well, no. But it's only a few minutes until-"
"Then I'm late, but not that late. If everyone could bring out yesterday's homework and hand it up to me at the front, please. Then we'll get to today's lesson. Since we've missed half the class, I suppose we'll have to skip discussion time and just spend the rest of the hour reading chapter four of our books."
A hungry look overtook Sally Bucknell's face and she stretched her hand in the air.
"Yes, Miss Bucknell?"
"What if we've already read chapter four?"
Everyone rolled their eyes except for Daniel and Sarah. Sarah smiled.
"Continue on from where you are then, Sally."
Sally beamed and sunk back into her chair, already passing her homework to the person in front of her, and all but nose-diving back into their class book.
Everyone's homework ended up in Daniel's hands and he passed it onto Sarah, giving her a shy smile and scurrying back to his seat to read like everyone else.
Sarah was grateful for the quiet. She rubbed her face and fiddled with things on her desk, making sure everything was organised the way that she liked it to be, before discreetly pulling out her phone to check her messages.
She had one text message from her younger brother, Toby.
In Bonnieville. B urs tonite.
Sarah rolled her eyes and quietly texted back.
Text like a normal human being. I know you can spell...somewhat. Want me to pick you up?
Almost instantaneously, Toby texted her with a reply.
Nah, its lyk a 5 minute walk to ur house, c u 2nite.
With a last eye roll, Sarah tucked her phone back into her bag. Her brother had turned sixteen a month ago. Whereas Sarah's petulant and moody attitude had seemed to miraculously change overnight when she was fifteen, her brother had no such motivation. Sarah had left for university when he was only four and a half, so he had been practically raised and spoiled and treated as an only child.
He'd been stroppy at home lately, so he was being sent to her place for the week. Sarah didn't have too much of a problem with this, since she lived by herself and could do with the company.
Shaking out of her reverie, the raven-haired woman reached for her students' completed homework.
Over the weekend, each student had been tasked with writing a short story about their short school holiday. It mattered not if it were real or made-up, but points were awarded for use of creative writing, metaphors, similes and imagery.
She spent the next ten minutes mindlessly absorbed in reading and grading, until she came to Jennifer Morris's paper.
It was titled Labyrinth.
Goblins come for children in the holidays. That's when parents are with their kids the most. That's when fights really happen, you see, because they spend so much time together.
Dad says there's no such thing as goblins, but I know the truth and Mom does as well.
We can tell because the goblins live in the walls. Hear them scratching against the wood. Looking at you through the mirror – but you can't see them. So, how do you see a goblin?
You make a wish for the goblins to take someone away, but it has to be the right words or they won't come. But he will. He has hair yellow like sunshine, and teeth as sharp as swords, and when Mom begs him not to take one of us away he says "What's said is-"
"Jennifer."
The sudden, sharp word pierced the quiet of the room, and every student looked up.
"Jennifer" Sarah repeated a bit more loudly, "Could you come here, please?"
The dark-haired girl simply sighed, put her book down and walked primly over to Sarah's desk. Her voice was quiet. "Yes?"
Sarah gave her back her homework and spoke quietly, noting that everyone else was pretending to read but their eyes kept sliding to them. She only wanted to talk, not embarrass the girl. "What is this?"
"My homework."
"Where did you get the inspiration for it?"
Jennifer gave her an odd look, "In my head. Where else?"
Sarah pointedly ignored the attitude for now. "This is already a book, Jennifer, did you get your inspiration from that book?"
"I don't know any book. My mum used to tell me old fairy tales and I just wrote one of them down."
It was perfectly rational for the Labyrinth to be based on old folklore. Sarah knew that. I mean, goblins living in walls? Please. But summoning goblins, goblins taking away children, the description of the child kidnapper, and those few words of dialogue.
It all felt a little too close to home for Sarah, and she had no idea why.
She'd had a similar dream so many, many years ago.
Faintly, Sarah remembered a much younger version of herself, giving away a tatty red book in a garage sale, wanting to purposefully leave some memory in the past.
"Ms. Williams?"
Jennifer was giving her an odd, disturbed look. Sarah shook her head, breathed in, and reached for paper and pen. She quickly wrote a note, signed it, and handed it to the girl.
"Give this to your mom, Jennifer, I think I should talk to her."
The smaller girl's face turned white. "B-But Miss, I'm not in trouble, am I? My Dad wouldn't-"
"You're not in trouble," Sarah explained soothingly, "No, I just would like to talk to your mother about- about your progress in the class, is all."
Jennifer regarded her warily, "But, not like bad progress, right?"
"Of course not."
Biting her lip, the younger girl finally nodded and tucked the note into a pocket in her skirt. "Okay, Miss." She gave a final nod and headed back to her desk, just as the peal of the bell for next period rang.
The rest of the day passed unbearably slow for Sarah. Her body was on auto pilot. She could hear and feel herself distantly going about her day, writing up instructions, giving out instructions, talking to students and co-workers, but she wasn't there. She felt out of her body, disconnected, her mind was miles away in a static place where only discontent sat inside her.
It was a feeling that had come and gone, and come and gone, for the last fifteen years.
Some nights it had driven her to seeking solitary shelter in her room, her body wracked with lonely tears and low sobs. Sometimes it drove her to put on her best kick-ass summer dress, curl her hair, put on a bit of make-up, and hit the town as the life of the party.
Trying to find an invisible and unknown cure for a sickness that was eating her up inside.
It was like she had tasted adventure, excitement, passion before. So everything else tasted bland, settled like ash on her tongue. Why have one chemically-injected, supermarket peach when you'd had the best goddamn peach ever?
Funnily enough, Sarah couldn't think of anything she'd done that had made her life now seem…so dull.
Skydiving, black water rafting, mountaineering, deep sea diving….Sarah had done it all.
She knew she shouldn't feel so miserable. There were plenty of people out there with far worse conditions than her, who had plenty good reason to be lonely and disheartened. But Sarah couldn't help the way she felt.
"So, is spacing out a regular thing with you, then?" A sudden amused voice broke her out of her thoughts.
Sarah jumped. A woman her own age stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame in a casual manner. She had thick, honey brown curls that settled somewhere below her chest, and a petite frame. A lovely face, Sarah thought. It was completely devoid of make-up, but the woman had clear olive skin, bright and perceptive green eyes, a shade lighter than her own, and a full mouth pulled into a haughty smirk. Despite her dignified air, she was wearing a pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and for some odd reason, a pair of jandals. "Do you mind if I…?" She gestured to the chair inside the room, the one sitting innocently in front of the desk.
Sarah sprung up, "Oh, of course! Come in!" Sarah glanced at the ornament clock on her desk, owl-shaped, a gift she'd bought for herself a few months ago. She liked owls.
"Twenty past five," Sarah sighed, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Morris, I presume?"
The woman waved her off and folded herself into the chair, "Kharis. Please. Mrs. Morris makes me sound like some old bat," She reclined, her face set in the same amused way. Now that she was up close, Sarah realized one of her eyes was a darker colour than the other. "May I call you Sarah?"
She found herself nodding before she thought properly on the offer, "Yeah, no problem." She sat down. "Kharis? Not from around here, are you?"
Kharis tilted her head back and laughed, it was a genuine, throaty laugh that Sarah liked. "No, not really. But my husband and I settled here some time ago. What of you, Sarah? Have you been in Port Haven for very long?"
"Six years," Sarah replied with a noncommittal shrug, "Port Haven's kind of a small place, but it has a rich history, and wildlife."
"Oh yes," Kharis's eyes pinpointed the clock ornament on her desk and stared. "And owls. We get a lot of owls around here. My cat doesn't take well to them, thinks their haughty things. But this damn brown owl wouldn't leave my windowsill for ages." She looked up, and Sarah found herself pinned under a gaze that seemed mischievous and yet, unnervingly perceptive. It was like a dual-natured stare, a light hearted veneer over something much deeper and unpredictable. "Do you ever get nightly visits from owls, Sarah?"
There was something kind of odd about this woman. Some sort of charm that made her really easy to like at first, but the more Sarah stared at her, the more peculiar she seemed. "Not really."
"That's too bad. Owls are meant to be the symbol of wisdom and waiting. Might be good luck to have them around."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, "And you don't let your cat chase them…?"
A short, ironic smile twitched at the corner of Kharis's mouth. "My cat's far too lazy, and the owl thinks itself far too clever. One day, I might catch that owl myself."
This woman seemed somewhat out of place. Sarah didn't take her eyes off of her. She seemed like a dignified yet casual woman, cheeky and curious, almost gregariously harmless. But there was an overlap. She could see it. Something very different underneath, a deeper perception, a darker, more feral-like instinct, someone with secrets. She reminded Sarah of…
"Goblins." Kharis interrupted.
"Sorry, what?"
"Goblins," The blonde haired woman reclined back in her chair, "That's what we're here for, isn't it? My telling my daughter silly fantasy stories."
Warily, Sarah forced herself to concentrate in the moment, not what she thought she could see hiding beneath a smile and a pretty face. "So, you admit you made up a story about kidnapper goblins to your daughter?"
"Is it a crime if I did? Every kid deserves to hear a good story." She leaned in, resting her chin in the cusp of her hands. "Does it upset you? Or are you more interested in the story? I'd be happy to tell you more."
Suddenly, Sarah's phone went off. The woman flinched back at the noise. "Sorry, that's mine." Sarah quickly grabbed her phone and checked the caller ID. Toby Williams. Worry exploded in her chest and she quickly accepted the call. "Toby, are you-"
"Sarah!" Toby's panicked voice set her nerves on edge. "Sarah, where are you? Jesus, I thought you'd been taken or something, I'm gonna call the police. Where are you? Are you okay?"
What? "Toby, calm down, I'm at work in a meeting." Sarah's eyes flickered to Kharis. The woman simply smiled. "What are you talking about? What do you need the police-"
"Sarah, someone broke into the house."
"WHAT!?"
"Yeah. The whole place is trashed. Can you just get here, now? This is creeping me the fuck out."
Sarah forced herself to calm down. "Toby. Listen to me. Stay out of the house. Go over to my neighbour's and stay there until I get home. Ring the police. That's it, okay?"
"Why do I have to go to your neighbours?" He whined,
"Because whoever broke in might still be there."
There was a pause on the other side, nothing but static, and then Toby meekly replied. "I'm just going over to your neighbours, please get here soon. Oh, and Sarah? I love you."
"I love you too, squirt. I'll be home soon." She hung up. "Damn. Damn, damn, damn." Sarah stood, scooping what she needed into her hand bag.
"Is everything alright?" Kharis politely asked, standing in unison with her.
"Uh, yeah, I just," Sarah sighed, "Sorry, can we continue this another time? There's been a break in at my home and I need to sort this out."
"Oh no problem." Kharis smiled, "I'm sure we'll meet each other again very soon. It was nice to meet you, Sarah."
"And you, Kharis."
For the second time that day, Sarah cursed at not having her own designated car park. Somewhere much closer to the building. She hurried to her car, and drove as fast as she could back to her house. Frustration and anger roiled inside her, and she tried to not temperamentally smack her hand against the wheel of her car and growl about how unfair it all was. It wouldn't solve anything.
She almost didn't want to know what the damages were.
Just as she pulled into the car park – groaning when she saw the door hanging off its hinges, but the exterior of the house was otherwise intact and untouched - her neighbour's porch light came on, and a tall, lean body shot out of the house and dashed towards her. Sarah had just gotten out of the car before she was enveloped in a hug that smelt of pine needles and mint. She hugged him back and breathed in. Toby.
"You, maybe don't want to go inside…" Toby said weakly into her hair. He was much taller than her, even at sixteen, and could fit her underneath his chin. "Police haven't even arrived yet."
Sarah gathered what courage she could, and pulled away. "No, I better check. It's my home." She popped open the boot of her car and Toby's eyebrows raised when she showed him a mean-looking baseball bat. One that had obviously been used before in the past, if the small dents in it meant anything.
"Sar, this isn't the 80's. You can't just protect yourself with a bat. People these days have this thing called a gun-" He shied away with a dopey grin when she gently tapped his arm with her bat.
"Shut up, whippersnapper." From the corner of her eye, she noticed her old neighbour come out onto the porch. The elderly woman looked at them, and just tightened her robe around her frail body. She kept staring at them.
Sarah pursued her lips, straightened her shoulders, marched to her front door, and gently pushed it open. It creaked, fell off its hinges, and landed on the floor with a loud thump.
"Well," Toby said loudly, "that's unfortunate."
Giving her brother a withering stare, Sarah ventured inside. Toby followed soon afterward.
It wasn't as bad as she had imagined. It was dark, so she switched on the light. It flickered, and died. So did the rest of the light bulbs that she tried. Everything in the kitchen was open – cupboards, fridge, microwave, oven – and broken dishes littered the floor. The couch looked like it had been ripped open by a wild animal, inside the holes were cacoon-sized nests made of couch stuffing. Sarah wasn't sure she wanted to know what had done it.
She crept upstairs, bat at the ready. She could hear running water and soon stepped into a large puddle. The bathroom door was open and water was lapping out of it at a steady pace. Nothing else had been touched inside.
"Toby…"
"I got it." He tip toed across the water to turn off the tap. Sarah moved onto her bedroom. Her grip tightened on the bat. She slowly pushed her door open, and her jaw dropped.
The first thing she noticed was that her mattress had been uplifted, and somehow broken in half, so that she could see the springs jutting out of it. There were odd chew marks on the headboard. Blankets lay like tattered ribbon on her carpeted floor. Books accompanied them, pages ripped out and scattered everywhere. Her foot nudged against something that crinkled.
She bent down, pulling out her phone and adjusted the flashlight onto it. It was the picture of the man she'd dreamt. Crinkled and then smoothed out, like it had been rolled into a ball, lovingly smoothed out, and the process repeated again and again. As if the person wasn't sure if they hated or loved it.
Sarah swore and stood, picture in hand. She pointed her flashlight around at the walls, and stopped.
"Toby! Toby!"
Her younger brother ran to her, splashing water across the floor as he went. "What? What's going on!?"
Almost nonplussed, Sarah pointed to where her flashlight was currently on. "Exactly how, did you miss that?"
Toby paled.
The wall was ridden with holes. Sarah noticed the wood had fallen inside, so something must have punched or whacked holes from within the wall. But there was something more pressing to consider. What took up the rest of the wall was a message engraved by what could have only been many, many fingernail scratching. Shallow, short grooves that overlapped in hundreds to form two words.
Summon me.
A/N: That is the longest friggin chapter I've written. They won't all be that long, I promise. Please review!
